Free Red Girl Rat Boy by Cynthia Flood

in nearby rooms, Lorraine asked, “What to do about Lily?”
    â€œI told the Boss Lady! Where’s that black bitch from, anyway?”
    â€œSalmon Arm,” said Annabel.
    â€œHow would you know?”
    â€œI get around.”
    Sally snorted. “You believe everything you hear.”
    Lorraine, again, “What can we do?”
    Silence.
    â€œLet’s take our diapers off! Do everything in our beds.”
    â€œ I’m not a baby.” Annabel stuck out her tongue at Sally.
    â€œDon’t fight. Please.”
    Melia came in, to finish them off. “That stolen folder makes a big trouble. Tomorrow Boss Lady seeing the Big Boss.”
    â€œScore!” cried Sally, and was first to grumble herself into a snore.
    Next, Annabel.
    Was Lorraine fainting? asleep? Warm dark flowed in the window. If only I could float out. That folder the Wanderer got—hers? These are our stories. I just have menus.
    As June ended, a skunk sprayed the one car still in the parking lot.
    Â 
    Celebrating Canada in care
    The hottest day yet.
    In the dumpsters, smells ripened.
    Not a weekday, hence no Activity, no doctors, no Lily.
    Instead, nice Roberto, one of Angelique’s nephews. Offering walker-less Sally his arm, he steered her to the dining room, where she and Annabel joined a contingent able to anticipate the arrival, hours away, of a sheet cake with Dream Whip and Mexican strawberries atop. Holding maple-leaf flags, the roommates squabbled till the weak sweat of the old coated their flesh. Other residents sat, blank-eyed.
    Alone, Lorraine tidied her menus. The italic font’s rainbow colours pleased her, the dates one after another, the words poetically arranged.
    golden macaroni &
    carrot Confetti salad with
    artisanal whole-wheat Bun
    Macedoine of fruits
    shortbread cookie with
    selected Milks
    and/or tea/coffee
    Later, paging through water gardens, Lorraine heard a guitar. A bass led the distant gathering through Au Clair de la Lune, Frere Jacques, Alouette.
    Angelique stopped by, to share berries dipped in chocolate. She came from yet another island and had twin boys.
    The first time Mr. Chang waved hello, his chair had one flag taped to the control pad. Two, next time. Then clusters, on the push-bar. Beside him today trotted a hefty sixty-ish daughter and a Jack Russell. Smiling, Mr. Chang held the dog’s leash.
    The Rec Director also beamed in.
    â€œHowzitgoin?”
    â€œFine.” Lorraine did like The Maple Leaf Forever .
    Whir whir whir.
    â€œYou stole my phone!”
    The Wanderer held some blue envelopes. She folded one into a booklet, proffered this while pointing at herself.
    â€œGive my phone back now !”
    The big wrinkled face contorted as the Wanderer scrabbled in her fanny pack for keys, clapped them against the booklet. Her eyes pleaded.
    Lorraine gave in. Considered this mime.
    â€œHow? There’s always someone at the nurses’ station.”
    The Wanderer pointed, jabbed towards Lorraine and at 17-A’s other beds. Her mouth (no teeth) gaped in an unheard scream, closed, re-opened.
    Lorraine considered further.
    â€œWe can try.”
    A scarf of violet silk passed from one woman to the other.
    Alone again, Lorraine ran the silk through her fingers (thinner every day) while thinking of Lily’s Alicia so far away. Of Lily’s low wages, her minimal benefits and non-existent job security. Her tedious, often distasteful tasks. Her struggle to keep status among the staff. Her limited English. How her hair went limp as a shift ground on. How, at her touch, some white residents showed disgust. The river of silk ran over Lorraine. And the Boss Lady’s life? No strength remained for that. She drowsed till Annabel scooted in, the advance guard before Roberto with Sally clutching his arm.
    â€œNot enough fucking strawberries! Or flags. Not fair. My neck hurts.”
    â€œWasn’t that a cute guitar boy? Love to find him in my bed!”